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Fido & Me — CAT scan

September 3, 2013

“You’re doing what?!?” Fido wanted to know.

“Gosh, Fido, it’s nothing at all, really.”

“But I hear whispers.”

“And what is it that you’re hearing?”

“That you are going in for a CAT scan!”

“Right you are, Fido. Routine stuff for a human of a certain age. Nothing to worry about."

“Worry? Me? I am a wreck! A CAT scan?”

“Ah, I get it. I can see why you’d worry, now that I think about it. But it’s not what you’re probably thinking.”

“But I’m a dog. I don’t think, I worry. Sometimes I think dogs taught humans how to worry properly. I cannot imagine you as a cat!”

“Oh for Heaven’s Sake, Mr. Beeg, I am not going to turn into a cat.”

“I’d much prefer if you’d have a DOG scan.”

“Oh, that’s such a nice sentiment, but even if I did turn into a cat, what’s it to you?”

“A cat can’t play Scrabble, first of all.”

“Actually, Fidey, a cat probably can, but they’d be too disinterested. And you are not exactly the world’s best Scrabble player. The longest word you’ve ever played—and I mean EVER— is W-O-O-F.”

“As I recall, I got a triple-letter score on the W.”

“Back to the CAT scan, for a moment, OK?”

“Nobody can worry like a dog can worry, and I am worried.”

“What do you think is going to happen, Fido?”

“That you’ll go through those double-doors on two feet, and come back on four! That you’ll have traded in your shirt for a Tuxedo. Like the Chief’s. That you’ll be standoffish and aloof. That you will lose all your sense of humor and disdain walks as a waste of time!”

“That will never happen, my good man. Never.”

“So why are you doing it?”

“It’s really just a matter of getting ready for the ski season, mostly. A human reaches a certain age, he wants to be in good working condition.”

“This will make you ski like you were 39 again?”

“Well, Fido, there’s not much of a chance of that. You can’t turn a ’57 Chevy into a new Maserati.”

“Is Maserati a CAT?”

“Gosh, Fido, you’re not getting it at all. Tell you what: You wait here in the DOG waiting room. There’s a bowl of water here for you. I’ll be done with this in about no time at all.”

“I am worried to death.”

“Yeah, Fido, but you are a worrier by nature.”

“It’s because I’m a dog, and dogs worry.”

“We covered that.”

“Do you promise-promise-promise that you’ll come back on two feet?”

“Yes Fido, and not only that, I’ll prove that I’m not a cat by showing you the paperwork. It will clearly indicate that I will still be a human, that we’ll go for long walks and hikes, that we’ll have a great ski season, and that we will keep on, keeping on.”

“And what about the CAT?”

“The Chief? He’ll still be a creamsicle tabby, in all his CAT-like glory.”

“The Chief doesn’t ski. The Chief doesn’t even like the snow, except to look at it during snowstorms, and then he just sits there, like it happens every day.”

“Fido, that’s a cat for you.”

“I never want to be scanned for a CAT.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Then why am I worried?”

“Because you are a DOG.”

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